


The Final Note

by Bauliya



Category: LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Depression, Drowning, M/M, Mental Illness, Mindfuck, Mutilation, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, eldritch monster! yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bauliya/pseuds/Bauliya
Summary: Victor Nikiforov boardedMS Carolinain the summer of 2016. The ship sank.He was found in a small Japanese island three weeks later.But never rescued.





	The Final Note

### LUXURY CRUISE LINER SINKS IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN

 MS Carolina, a trans-pacific luxury cruise liner, sank due to a category five hurricane in the north pacific, five hundred kilometres off the Tokyo coast, on day seven of its thirty day journey. Out of the 205 passengers, 182 have been rescued by Japanese boats and 11 bodies have been recovered thus far. The rest of the passengers have been unaccounted for. Search operations are underway...

 

Comments: 

**anonymous:** OMG so sad. #prayforcarolina

**quadax:** hey wait wasnt this the same ship from nikiforovs insta????

      **icequeen02:** no it wasnt.

           **quadax:** um yeah. i found the link. says #cruise #carolina. fuck. 

              **icequeen02** : no!!

* * *

 

**giacummetti**
     guys i found  this list of passengers aboard the Carolina online. check out no.142  
#victor nikiforov #omg wtf i'm sobbing #can't find the name of rescues anywhere. pls send one if you can.
    
**make-pasta-not-war**
     here's the list of survivors. no nikiforov.  
#dear lord #i'll try to keep finding the updated ones

7,885 notes

* * *

###  FIGURE SKATING WORLD CHAMPION PRESUMED DEAD IN CAROLINA TRAGEDY

* * *

 

### VICTOR NIKIFOROV FOUND ON ISLAND PREVIOUSLY BELIEVED SUBMERGED

* * *

Eventually, they'd had to break down the door, after the neighbours started complaining about the smell. Yakov received the call as soon as the preliminary investigations were over. The water had rotten the corpse beyond recognition but the silvery hair could not be mistaken. He'd noticed the dislodged tile in the bathroom; an old hiding place for the boy, and not mentioned anything to the detectives. There was a letter there, ink flowered in some places and water, and he'd silently taken it, and read it for the first time in the taxi.  

> Yuri, if you are the one to find me, I am deeply sorry. You came by today, your concern is touching but I am beyond saving. I'd gone past that frontier when my raft hit the sand of that nameless island. He is getting impatient and I simply cannot put it off any longer. Bringing me back was a mistake, I should have been left to my fate. But no matter, I will now rectify it. 
> 
> After the 2016 Worlds, I was adrift. A dead leaf dancing on the wind. Perhaps I had been like that for years, but I remember looking at the flashing lights of the camera from the podium and feeling nothing but a heavy numbness crushing my veins. I packed my bags and drove to the airport before the gala was over. The only thing I'd bothered taking was my suitcase and a new phone; the old one had been tossed into the sea. I don't remember the first ticket I bought, or the second, but I was in Vladivostok by Friday. I'd decided to cut myself off completely from the world but I couldn't help but catch the news now and then. There was a manhunt going on. 
> 
> I saw an ad for the trans-pacific cruise Carolina and bought a ticket. I'm still not sure if I wanted to actually go to  nine countries over thirty days or throw myself overboard and the let the world think it was a drunken accident. To call off the search, I posted a photo of me on the deck on Instagram, three days after the ship had left port, so no one could do anything about me being on it. I sent a personal message to Yakov, asking him to take care of Makkachin until I returned. 
> 
> Of course, nature decided the objective of the journey for me. I helped people board the rescue ships and slipped away, locked myself in one of the suits on the lowest floor and closed my eyes. I did not expect to open them, that too on a life raft. I suppose someone must have found me, but there was no trace of them. At that point, I decided to live, because the thought of wasting that person's efforts triggered too much guilt. There were provisions tucked up in the in the sides of the raft, and I navigated towards the north the best I could, remembering that it had been announced that we were south of the coast of Tokyo by the captain the day before the storm. I must have done a decent job because my little boat rammed itself into a sandbar when I was sleeping and I woke sputtering in a shallow pool of water.
> 
> In the night, trying to navigate the island was a hopeless endeavour, so I dragged myself to the part of the beach untouched by waves and fell to a deep slumber, plagued by horrific nightmares. They were endless, entering around a pool of emerald green water, of bloodshed and chilling chants and the smell of incense. I was drowned hundreds of times, and each time I died looking at a pile of fetid corpses without a base. The water did not give up its dead. 
> 
> I woke exhausted. The island was utterly desolate but perfectly preserved, if dusty. I did not enter any homes, I was afraid I’d find untouched meals. The air lacked all moisture, even few feet from the ocean, as if the entire island was encapsulated in a seamless bubble. There was not a single blade of grass or the tiniest shrub anywhere.
> 
> Except around the bath house located in the centre of the village. It lay on a lush square, surrounded by a thick brick wall and secure behind a cast iron gate, every inch of it engraved with kanji. I had no doubt that the hellish pool lay inside.
> 
> Knowing it would be certain doom, I made my primary objective getting off that place. But when I reached the beach, I found that my raft had sailed away, leaving only a frayed rope. I spent the entire day hunting for water. That proved futile very quickly so I fished til sunset. Whatever I managed to catch, tasted rancid despite flopping around only minutes before, and I was dry-heaving until the the sky turned black.
> 
> I stayed awake til almost dawn, slept on the edge of the beach, not caring if the tide swept me away, only that I avoided those terrific dreams but it was not to be so. They were clearer, more detailed, my feet were dragged across the dry roads into the bath house. There were reverberations in my chest but I could hear nothing, except the soothing laps of water. But the pool was without any ripples.
> 
> I was thrown again but I did not drown. Oh, it was beautiful. The water was perfectly clear. The water had claimed me, like it had claimed hundreds before; it protected what was its, but only if I surrendered. 
> 
> Tendrils of orange light were chasing away the darkness when I woke up, resolute. Scaling the wall seemed no hardship. The soft grass felt soothing to my cracked heals. There was a rivulet quietly floating by from the interior to the end of the wall and I bent down and drank my fill. The water was cool, and sweet, and the air was moist. My skin no longer felt like a stretched drum. 
> 
> I wandered aimlessly until I reached the emerald pool. There was no reflection on its surface, just unending depth. I touched the surface, and ripples emanated, not <i> from </i> my hand, but _towards_ it. It had been waiting for me. I stepped inside.
> 
> Then, of course, I was found. I told the doctors that I had lost my legs in the shipwreck. I could tell they did no believe me because the stumps were perfectly healed, but they could not offer any other explanation. This is the truth. I am very sorry. The bathtub isn’t ideal, but He has agreed to tolerate it in His kindness. 

Yakov burned the letter. He’d thought of keeping it safe, but that was unnecessary; each word was engraved in his mind. There was another letter, the original of which was with the police and the copies with various lawyers.

His official will, dated a week before the discovery of his body. Viktor was a very rich man, and not only because of his skating. His parents, if neglectful, had ensured he'd be well taken care of after their deaths. He’d left the majority of his estate, including his Moscow and St. Petersburg flats, to Yuri, and divided the rest equally between Yakov and Chris, with Yakov getting Makkachin.

The final item dealt with his trophies and medals. He'd ordered them destroyed. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you read Lovecraft way past your bedtime. Loosely based on Dagon (a short story I cannot recommend enough). Comments and kudos are love!


End file.
